You Know Nothing, Miss Granger
by llorolalluvia
Summary: My entry for the HP Kinkfest on Livejournal. It's a postwar fic, AU because Severus survives. He frequents Muggle pubs to pick up women, but he never expected her. She thinks dirty words are for the vulgar, but she's never heard them in his voice. ONESHOT (forreal this time).


_This story is a bit different from my usual stuff. I wrote it for the HP Kinkfest on Livejournal. TeddyRadiator was the prompter, and here is the prompt: "__She's always considered herself rather frigid, until he talked to her. Really talked to her. Post-war, AU (Snape lives)"  
_

_I hope you enjoy it!_

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This Scotch was not a bad substitute for Firewhiskey. It lacked the crackling magic of Ogden's Old, but nearly made up for it in flavour. Severus Snape sat sipping the liquor neat at one end of the bar, his back against the wall. Besides the nearly vacant tables, the only empty seat in the old London pub was situated directly beside himself. It was a lucky advantage of his that only a _certain_ type would ever sit there. The dark looks and austere expression tended to drive most Muggles away, if his long hair and Victorian form of dress did not put them on their guard. To many of them, he must have been the vision of a vampire, or some sort of dangerous, foreign spy. Well, that wasn't so far from the truth. But there were some—a select few—who would be drawn to his darkness like a moth to a flame. And the others would have left the seat beside him vacant, awaiting _her_ arrival. It took a certain level of confidence, so they were almost always beautiful, and they never wanted him for more than a night—after all, they were interested in what they could pretend that he was; not in actually getting to know him. In short, he was perfectly adapted to attract the ideal woman every time.

He heard her coming before he saw her. The dull tap of her heels on the wooden floor was slow, yet resolute. She would come to him, but on her own time, with no outward expression of fear. It was refreshing.

Without turning his head away from his study of the tumbler of amber liquor, Severus watched as she slowly came into view. First, a glimpse of sheer black thinly veiling shapely calves. Next, loose ebony skirts softly caressing sculpted thighs as they danced about her with every step. The subtle scent of bergamot and candle wax reached his nose before she reached his side. And finally, with suave grace, she slipped onto the stool beside him as he raised his eyes to acknowledge her sudden appearance.

"Hello, Professor."

Severus's jaw would have dropped had it not been for a couple of decades of life as a spy, learning to conceal his reactions. "Miss Granger."

"You are the last person I expected to run into tonight."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I could say the same." And _what_ a disappointment.

She was smiling at him. _Why_ was she smiling at him? He had the distinct impression that she was about to say something sentimental when Cranky John appeared behind the bar. "Evenin'" he grunted. "What'll yeh have?"

"Glenmorangie," she answered, to Severus's surprise. "Neat."

"That Scotch is older than you are, Miss Granger," he purred as John went to fill her request.

She laughed. "Hardly." Those inquisitive eyes were still focused on his. It unnerved him. "What brings you to this part of London?" she asked. Oh good... chitchat. Lovely.

"A good drink. And a _quiet _pub."

The sparkle in her eyes led him to believe she had understood his jibe, yet she refused to be deterred. "It's good to see you," she said instead, all sincerity. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Gryffindors._ "We've been worried about you. I know you hate to hear it. Ever since you recovered from that attack..." her eyes unfocused and that damnable smile finally faded just a tad.

"I have been enjoying the peace that comes with solitude... Miss... Granger." What was the chit about? Why did she feel the need to pester him? Had any of his other ex-students come upon him in this pub on this night, they surely would have run for fear of having to speak to him alone. And yet, here she was... sitting beside him... accepting a tumbler of single-malt Scotch from the grumpy bartender and sipping it with an air of maturity he never could have foreseen her to possess. Had she never been his student... but no, it would not do to imagine her as one of his many conquests. This was Hermione Granger, the irritating brat with the insatiable need to be admired for her ability to memorize the findings of another. She could never be compared to the beautiful tarts who typically spent the night with him, when he was in one of his moods. For one, she was probably a horrible lay.

Hermione let the spicy liquor run across her thirsty tongue. She needed the strength of a good Scotch to calm the nerves now jumping to the surface. She had not been so anxious since the end of the War, but was that really a surprise? This was Professor Snape... the elusive spy... in a Muggle setting... and she didn't know how to react. He seemed to be studying her, which only made her jumpier than before. What on Earth could have possessed her to approach him? Clearly, he had no plans to indulge her curiosity.

"Do you often seek out Muggle pubs, Professor?" she couldn't help but ask. After all, the Wizarding World had not seen much of Severus Snape since the end of the War. Some said he had gone straight into hiding. Others believed he was searching for the next dark lord.

"It has been known to occur."

She was out of her depth. She was trespassing. How could she ever have thought that he would accept her into his company with such ease? Severus Snape was the most private man she knew; more private even than Harry. How dared she strike up a conversation with him as she had? She was just about to apologise for interrupting his peaceful night when the sound of an owl hooting drew her attention to her bag. She withdrew the pristine mobile phone and flipped it open to see a message from Ron.

"_Finnegan's tonight. You in?"_ it read. Hermione let out a breath. As much in the mood for a drink as she was, spending the evening taking shots with the boys was hardly a temptation. Hadn't they gone out enough this week? Did they really expect her to join them?

"_Maybe later,"_ she answered, noncommittally. If things went south with Snape, she might need to see her friends for a boost of confidence. Already, the risky move of approaching him was beginning to seem like a mistake.

"You keep a Muggle cellular phone?" his suave baritone suddenly remarked.

Hermione met his eye for a bare instant. It was still so strange, seeing her old professor in such a casual setting. "It's very useful," she answered. "Less conspicuous than owl post."

"Ah," he agreed, smirking at her in his usual, patronising manner, "and yet you have chosen the call of the owl as your alert."

"Yes," she smiled, glancing down at her phone as it hooted again in response. "A bit of an inside joke, you might say."

Ron's message was brief. "_Suit yourself_," it said. She closed the phone.

"May I?" the professor asked, extending his hand. Severus had never inspected a mobile phone for himself, and it wasn't likely that he'd have another chance.

"Of course," she agreed, passing the object into his pale, fine-boned hand. She had never paid much attention to her professor's hands, but they were elegant as she never could have expected they would be. They spoke of refinement in a manner contrary to the mark beneath his sleeve or his greasy locks of hair. It was the mark of a gentleman gone wrong. He had the blood, but not the breeding, as if neglect were the only thing keeping him from being debonair.

She watched as he studied the object, passing it from one hand to the other, opening it to examine the keypad. "Fascinating," he said. "You inscribe your messages using the letters here, am I correct? And they somehow appear in the other person's phone?"

Hermione nodded. "They are sent to a satellite which then forwards them to the correct address."

"It is astounding what Muggle technology can accomplish."

"Yes, I often imagine that they will soon surpass us. Of course, it's our own fault for refusing to learn about their world and technologies at all. Can you imagine what the Wizarding World would accomplish if it took advantage of Muggle technology?"

"A terrifying prospect," he murmured. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him before noticing the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that was his only expression of amusement. "May I infer that there is some trick to selecting a letter out of the three shown on each of these buttons?"

"Oh, of course. Here, let me show you. It's very simple." She accepted the phone from his outstretched hand and turned it so that both of them could see the keypad. "Originally, you would have to hit each button a number of times to select the proper letter. Once for 'a,' twice for 'b,' thrice for 'c,' and so on with the other buttons. But now, they have developed an algorithm that allows the phone to guess the most likely word based on the combination of buttons pressed. Allow me to demonstrate." She pulled up a blank text message, ignoring the slight quirking of her professor's mouth. Merlin, it was odd to be instructing him on anything, but nevertheless quite gratifying all the same. "If I type in the word... 'professor,' see how it immediately appears?"

"And what happens when one word shares a pattern with another?"

"Easy. Let me think of an example... Yes. 'Kiss' always shows up first as 'lips.' See that? Then all you have to do is press the 'Next' button. See?"

"Hmmm," he hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "And what about a word that has not yet been programmed?"

"Simple. You revert to the old method of typing it in letter by letter... oh, you have to change the settings first, like... so... and then... did you have a word in mind? I've already taught it 'Hogwarts' and the like."

"You would know better than I what sorts of words have not yet been programmed. My best bet would be to sit here naming all manner of magical creatures and herbs, but I imagine you've already taught it most of those. Dare I suggest my own name?" Hermione blushed. He sneered. "It knows my name?" She nodded. "Well, what about your own?"

"Oh, that might work. I don't ever have much cause to type my own name."

"Precisely."

"See, then I would have to type it letter by letter, but once I've done, it will remember the word. It's very clever, actually. Except," she laughed at the memory, "if you misspell the word that you're teaching it, it remembers the incorrect word. Then, when you go to type the real one, it sometimes remembers the old and that can lead to some humorous messages."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," she laughed, "to this day, my phone always wants to call Percy 'Perby.' Fred and George have taken up calling him that to his face."

Snape's lips turned up in a reluctant smile and she had the strong impression that he was actually holding it back. "Would you mind if I toyed with it a bit?" he asked. "Only, I'm rather intrigued by the algorithm."

"Of course." Hermione handed over her phone and took a sip of her drink. There was something exciting about imparting new knowledge to a man who had taught her so much, himself. He began typing away, fiddling with the buttons as she watched his intense expression. It seemed so forbidden; staring into his face without fear of the reproach that would usually come. Heavy lines made him look much older than he really was, but beneath that his features were sharp and intelligent. There was a certain refinement that suited his Victorian dress, but it was hard to imagine him without that heavy scowl. Actually, despite that, he was quite handsome. What a funny thing to realise.

The bartender came back over and Snape waved him away without glancing up from the phone. He looked quite comical, slowly searching for buttons with one index finger as he squinted at the screen. Hermione had the startling realisation that her old professor needed reading glasses. She tried to picture him wearing them, and just barely held back a laugh. _Actually_, she considered, _he would look quite fetching._

The phone hooted, startling her from her reverie. "Ah," he purred. "Mr. Weasley has sent you a message." Something dark sparkled in his eyes as he handed the phone back to her. Hermione felt herself blushing. Whatever the professor had supposed, it was surely wrong. There was nothing at all between Ron and herself, nowadays. The tension had fled with their first sexual encounter, as each of them realised how unsuited they actually were. Of course, none of her sexual experiences had been particularly gratifying, if she were to tell the truth, but Ron was a story all his own. Clearly, nothing more than friendship would ever be in the cards for them.

"_Fred and George might come," _Ron's message read.

She closed the phone. "You may continue your inspection, if you like," she offered, smirking up at him as she handed him the phone.

"Are you certain?" he asked, lifting the object from her hand without so much as brushing his skin against hers. "I would hate to stumble upon some secret messages between you two."

Hermione snorted. "I don't know what you expect to find, Professor. Ron and I are only friends."

"Indeed?" was all he said. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he didn't quite believe her.

"Yes," she stated firmly. He returned to playing with her phone. "And anyway," she couldn't help but add, "I'm hardly the type to send explicit messages through text message."

He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing.

That _was_ what he had meant, wasn't it? Had she misinterpreted his remark? Oh gods, now he was going to think her a total tramp—her professor!—for even thinking he had meant such a thing. What did it say about her mind that she had jumped to that conclusion? "Or at all," she added, "no matter the medium." She couldn't seem to stop talking. "I'm just not that way."

"You're... not... that... _way_?"

There was an awkward silence, thankfully filled when the bartender returned and they each ordered another drink. Hermione tossed the rest of her first drink down her throat in the hopes that it would give her strength. It wasn't until she had taken a sip of her new glass that she finally responded to his inquiry. "I'm not vulgar," she explained. "I assumed that was what you meant."

"Not vulgar." His lip twitched. Was he laughing at her?

"I mean... I don't... I'm not crude. I think language is wasted in..." she couldn't seem to finish the thought.

"In _what, _Miss Granger?" The man was merciless.

She met his eyes, reprimanding him for asking such a thing at the same time that they communicated a mutual understanding. "I mean..." she was grasping at straws and this was her professor—ex-professor—"there are couples... whose only connection is sex, and therefore their only communication must be in terms of sex, as well. They have nothing else to say to one another, so they resort to... talking dirty, for lack of a better term."

Oh yes, he was straight up sneering at her now. "It is given, then, that two people involved in a sexual relationship who choose to communicate in a sexual manner must, necessarily, have nothing else to say?"

"Well, it seems to me that they feel the need to be in touch, but their only real connection is sexuality, so they have no other way to express themselves to each other. If they had any interest in each other as intellectuals, for example, they would save the sex for the bedroom, where it belongs."

Snape threw his head back at that and laughed. Hermione was dumbfounded. She had never seen the austere professor laugh and it burned her that it was at her own expense. Hadn't she made perfect sense with that argument?

"Your mistake, Miss Granger, is in thinking that sex is only one aspect of a relationship, like a piece of a pie. With an ideal romantic attachment, sex is infused throughout every interaction between partners. Speaking, sharing air, touch, sleep; _everything_ is sexual in an _adult_ relationship." His lip twitched with humour. "Expressing attraction in spoken terms allows sex to become communication; and communication to become sex. As an intellectual, you _ought_ to appreciate the subtle art... of spoken sex."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her mind was reeling with the seeming praise of being called an intellectual. "Maybe it is my limited experience," she admitted, "but it seems to me that such interaction usually serves to objectify the partner... to further prove that the attraction is primarily physical by emphasising those characteristics."

He smirked at her again, those unblinking eyes holding her in their unwavering stare. He was judging her. "Many intellectuals find it refreshing to be objectified... to allow psychological attachments and judgments to fall by the wayside for the moment... to drop the pressure and allow for purely physical relief. Even in a romantic relationship, this can be quite satisfactory."

"Well, it completely disregards the _emotional_ aspects of sex." And why the _hell_ was she talking to Professor Snape about this? He waved the bartender over and ordered another round. Her throat grew dry.

"If every encounter is highly emotional, the sex will become a drain. Don't underestimate the importance of physical relief. Dirty words only help to increase the desire, making release that much easier to obtain. After all, as I am sure you must understand, one cannot satisfy what has not yet been aroused. Love is an arousing emotion, to be sure, but it just as often inspires embracing as it does sex. _Lust_... will _always_ inspire sex. Why not express it?"

Hermione shrugged. "Perhaps some people are just turned off by the prospect of being objectified and humiliated in such a vulgar way."

"You have no experience with it." It was a statement, not a question, and Hermione blushed.

"I... We have... tried it... a little..."

"No. You have never truly experienced it, or you would understand. Your clumsy Gryffindor boyfriends may have _expressed_ themselves in spoken terms, but they have not _snared_ you with their words. You have never had anyone bring you to your knees simply by telling you how well you'd look there." There was a shocked silence before the ex-Potions Master continued. "I have no doubt you have been given compliments, Miss Granger, but how often have you been told in detail just _what_ your appearance inspires in a man?"

She didn't know how to respond. "I... I'm not sure what you mean."

"You have a mirror, do you not? You are aware of your own physical assets. But have you ever considered what others might think when they see you? Have you ever allowed yourself to imagine what men must think when you wear such a dress as _that_, which clings so affectionately to your nubile form? Have you ever studied yourself in that mirror, knowing that there are those who might enjoy _holding_ those heavy breasts?" Hermione couldn't breathe. "Have you never heard a man tell you what he'd like to do to you, if given half a chance? Tell me you haven't just _allowed_ them to have their way without even having to voice the sinful thoughts aloud. Don't you know that half the fun is _hearing_ what they plan to do to you, if you'll allow it?"

"And is it my responsibility to ask?"

"Only if you want to know. You must realise that men are _always_ thinking of such things."

"And are you? Thinking of such things?" Once the words had passed her lips, Hermione knew she had crossed a line. This was no longer hypothetical. Not anymore. She had crossed the careful distance between them with one hasty, ill-conceived question.

He took a long moment to respond, and Hermione held her breath. Had she crossed a line? Had she broken the rules? Had she ruined every encounter between herself and the ex-professor until the end of time? Or had she just embarked on a new adventure, the likes of which she had never imagined? Only he could say. Their glasses were still full, but Snape ordered another round, tossing his Scotch back without breaking his eyes away from hers. She followed suit. "You have become an attractive young woman," he admitted, unabashedly. "I would have to be blind not to notice the ripe, feminine figure you've developed, or the soft appealing skin you seem to have. If I hadn't known you before tonight, I would certainly have attempted to persuade you to follow me home."

"Indeed?"

"Naturally."

"Is that why you came here tonight, Professor? To find a woman?"

He took a sip of his drink. "Perhaps."

A thrill ran down Hermione's spine. She had never thought of her professor in a sexual way. Now, knowing that he had come to this pub specifically to get laid, without the slightest doubt that he would succeed in his endeavours before even setting eyes on the woman herself, Hermione had to re-evaluate her image of the older man. That she had inadvertently taken the place that was meant for his next conquest... the insinuation sent a flash of heat across her skin. "And if I _had_ been just another stranger..." she couldn't help but ask, feeling the dangerous ground of this conversation like eggshells underfoot, "and I _did_ follow you home... what then?"

He laughed—a deep rumbling laugh like thunder in the distance—and met her eye, leaning forward just an inch or so, enough to make her breath catch. "There, I would have settled you before the fire with a tumbler of Scotch." His expression grew devious. "But you would never finish that glass. I'd have you sipping at my lips within a matter of minutes, as my hand slowly slipped beneath your skirt. I would have explored your delightful body with my tongue and taught you a new appreciation for a number of different things. But... as it is... I think you are too innocent to hear the other things I have in mind."

She was frozen on the stool. "I'll take my chances."

Severus Snape leaned closer to her, his nose gently tickling her curls. Hot breath poured against her ear as her eyes closed instinctually. "I'd gladly rip that little dress right off of you," he purred. "If you were just a woman I didn't know." The tip of his nose pressed into her hair and she could feel him inhale. "I'd sneak a hand up your slender waist to palm a breast and gently knead you until your nipples stood out proud. Then I'd slide that flimsy sleeve right off your arm and bare that breast to take the tip into my mouth. Do you like the thought of that, Miss Granger? Did you ever think your old professor would consider sucking on your tits?"

"Not old..." was the only response that came to mind.

He laughed at her again; a dark murmur of amusement that teased of things to come. He was very fully in control now, and he knew how to handle authority. "If you were just a stranger, girl, I wouldn't just be saying this. I'd have found my way between your legs by now. Because that is what I want, you know. I want that slick, hot sheath between your legs." Hermione gasped. His honesty was invigorating. "I want to bury my cock up to the hilt in your soft flesh," he confessed in a whisper. She couldn't contain a whimper of sudden arousal. To think that her ex-professor could think such things of _her_... "You'd spread those pretty legs for me if I only said the word," he boasted. "And you'd be wet and ready by the time I slipped inside." Her eyes flew open, only because she was in danger of falling off the chair. He laughed at her. "But you're far too lovely for a quick fuck. No. With you, I'd like to take my time," he growled, his voice an octave lower than before, "so I might start with a taste of that sweet mouth." His dark eyes were on fire, but he seemed so sure and confident. No one had ever spoken to her like this... and certainly not with this kind of effect. "Your mistake is in assuming that dirty words are only used to convey crude messages. As with sex, it depends on the man. A competent partner can make love to you without ever lifting a finger. With my voice, I can touch every part of your body, kissing you, tasting you, fucking you, making you wet before I've even truly begun. You'll be begging me to take you before I've even got your dress off."

"That's quite a boast." Hermione's voice was breathy with excitement and she inwardly berated herself for being so obvious.

"Do you doubt that it is true?"

"Doubt implies a reliance on belief," she responded. "I prefer to see for myself."

Suddenly, his hand was on her knee, and she met his eye. The hunger there nearly made her gasp aloud, but it would not do to draw attention. Not when he was so near to proving such a tantalizing point. Would he really fondle her right here? Somehow, she hoped he would.

"Do not make the mistake, Miss Granger, of believing that I am gentle. Softness has its place, to be sure, but only for those who can handle more than that."

"What do you mean?"

He smirked at her. "Gods, you're such an innocent. What I mean, silly girl, is that while I'd like to dip between your legs, tasting your sweet honey with my hot, wet tongue... I'd also like to turn you across my knee and leave a handprint on your arse."

"You... you want to spank me?"

"Don't take it personally, Miss Granger. I am not in love with you. Had you been someone else, I would have said the same. Right now, you are only a beautiful body that I want to enjoy. That is what a woman is to me... _Hermione._" The sound of her name on his devious, dark voice made Hermione shudder with desire. "If you can accept that, I teach you of a world you never dreamt that you would see. I can show you what it is to be desired. Have you ever been fucked, Miss Granger? I'm not talking about making love or fooling around. I'm talking about having your body played like an instrument just to hear you sing. I'm talking about flipping you over as your screams subside and taking you from behind. _That _is what I want to do to you." His words should have shamed her, should have made her slap him across the face and stomp out of the bar. But they only made her want to see what he could do with that sharp tongue; see if he could make good on his word to really fuck her as no one else had ever done. There was something alluring about the promise of detached, purely physical relief. And with her professor... it should have been so wrong. Yet she found herself excited by the prospect of getting to know a side of him that he never would have shown to her before. It was as if he were accepting her into another category, however inane that sentiment might be. He was judging her worthy of something more.

Plus... just the thought of him wanting to touch her, to use her, to fuck her made Hermione want to wilt with pangs of desire. That he was saying all of this out loud... he had better be ready to make good on the offer.

Sex had never been impersonal or gratuitous for Hermione Granger. The few encounters she'd had had been expressions of affection and trust, with a bit of attraction thrown in. The prospect of unattached, passionate release was so foreign and new and deliciously intoxicating that Hermione just couldn't stand the tease. Reaching for him, against her better judgment, maybe because of the alcohol she had just consumed (and without having eaten anything for hours... shame on her!), Hermione leaned forward to press her mouth against his own. His lips were dry and hesitant at first. She almost felt embarrassed. Then his hand came up to slip into her curls and his mouth opened against hers, suckling her tender flesh as he held her still with one hand tight in her hair. He was almost painful with his grip, but his lips were tender and lingering, teasingly slow and delicate where she wanted him to be harsh. Didn't he want her with a passion? Hadn't he said as much? Why was he being so slow and sweet and gentle?

He pulled away. "Mmmmm _Hermione_," he moaned, "you have a little deviant in you, after all." She smiled at the seeming praise as he caught her lips again with a rougher caress, nibbling lightly as he pulled her near. "Your mouth is so soft. I'd like to feel it wrapped around my cock. Would you like that?"

"Yes," she heard herself respond.

"Yes? You want to put me in your mouth?"

It struck her a little tardily that he expected her to reciprocate. She flushed with nerves at the thought, but pulled away just far enough to speak. Between their lips, hot breath mingled in a haze of potential passion. "I want to taste you," she confessed. "I... I want to wrap my tongue around the tip. I want to sink to my knees before you and take you down my throat."

"Mmmmm," he growled, "very _good_, Miss Granger."

Emboldened by his praise, Hermione pressed her lips to his, letting her tongue dart out to slide across the seam. He gasped into her mouth and gripped her waist with strong, eager hands. The sudden contact made her breath hitch with desire.

"And then?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"I would tease you. I would keep my eyes on yours and slide my mouth slowly up and down your cock."

"Little minx," he laughed with dark approval, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. His tongue gently darted between her lips, gently teasing. "You would make me impatient and I would wrap my fingers in your hair, forcing you to quicken the pace." He thrust his hands into her curls as he said this, gently but firmly gripping her as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the insinuation and brushed her own tongue against his.

When his other hand swept up from its grip on her waist to gently cup her nearly unprotected breast, they both moaned into the kiss and pulled away. "It's time to go," he told her, helping her off of the barstool as he gestured to Cranky John. He paid with a Muggle credit card for all of their drinks—waving away her protests—and led her from the pub with a hand at the small of her back. Hermione could hardly breathe. Walking with this man down a busy street in London, she felt more alive and beautiful than she had in all her life. Professor Severus Snape was taking her home with him, and she could hardly wait.

It was a challenge to keep even with the tall man's long strides, but Hermione eagerly hurried after him as they passed the many shops and cafes without a second glance. Severus pulled the girl into the first dark alleyway he saw, pinning her up against the bricks with his hands tight around her wrists above her head and hungrily capturing her mouth. Everything about Hermione was soft and sweet and perfect. "Hold on," he told her. It was the only warning he gave before Disapparating to the lake near Spinner's End. Her glare only made him smirk. Keeping her off balance was part of the game, after all. And Severus knew how to play.

Past a hundred doorsteps she followed him, into a maze of brick residences. It was probably the last place she'd ever expect a man like Severus Snape to live. Yet here he was, withdrawing his wand and an old Muggle key to let down his wards and open the door. His home was hardly grand, but she never noticed. All she saw when that door opened up were the walls and walls of books that immediately greeted the eye. Dropping his hand as he reset the wards, she hurried to one of the shelves. She was just about to pull out a beautiful, antique tome with gilded runes along the spine when two firm hands grasped her upper arms and a dangerous voice whispered in her ear. "You can look at the books later, Hermione. Right now, there are other things I want from you." Hermione shivered. She leaned back against the flat plane of his chest and let the excitement hum inside of her. _'You can look at the books later,'_ he had said, and she would hold him to it.

Those spidery fingers slipped down her arms to the elbows and off onto her waist, gently kneading the slender curve there as his chin rested atop her head. He pulled her back against him with a moan and she was startled to feel his stiff erection pressing into her back. The thought that Snape even _had_ an erection was new and totally foreign; that it was pressed against her back... made her burn with need. _He wants me_. It didn't matter that none of this was personal—although she wasn't sure that was entirely true on her end—only that they were both here. Her Professor, Severus Snape, had brought her into his home, and he intended to fuck her.

Severus gave her plenty of warning this time, slowly sliding his hands up her slender torso and letting them rest right beneath her breasts. She moaned as his index fingers softly brushed the tender undersides. Then, slowly—teasingly, agonizingly slowly—he let his deft hands glide over the cotton covering those firm, round globes. Groaning into her ear, he massaged them until hard peaks stood out through the thin material. When he pinched them, she whimpered with need. Then one hand was slipping through the V opening at the front of the dress, cupping her hot skin in his palm. The other hand drifted stealthily down to the hem of her skirt, slipping beneath it to brush the satin covering her thighs. She gasped as he pulled her hard against him, fondling her naked breast as his other hand slowly teased her legs apart. He pinched the flesh of her stocking-covered thigh before sliding slowly up to feel her heat.

Hermione moaned. She had never wanted anything more in her life. "Please," she whimpered as his thumb softly grazed across her clit.

"Please what?" he growled.

"I want you to touch me."

"I _am_ touching you, _Hermione._ You have marvellous tits."

She groaned and tried to press herself against him. One hand covered his beneath her skirts and she held him still as she rubbed against his ready fingers. She whimpered when he pulled his hand away. "You don't want to play by the rules, do you Miss Granger? Surely you know what the punishment is for that." Hermione bit her lip, searching her mind for some recollection. Could it be that she didn't know the answer to his question? She shook her head. "Come," he told her. "Let me show you."

Severus led the girl to his favourite reading chair and sank down into it, staring expectantly up at her. Those wide brown eyes stared back in shock and confusion. Slowly, she sank to her knees before him. He quirked an eyebrow. That hadn't been quite what he meant, but he wasn't about to complain. Slender, dainty fingers made quick work of his many buttons, opening his trousers to her eyes. He moaned when she reached a hand inside, withdrawing his hardened cock. Then she met his eye, and the deviousness he saw made his mouth water in anticipation. She lowered her mouth, slowly licking her lips as she drew near the head of his shaft. Then, just as she was about to lower those delectable lips down onto him, she pulled away, stroking him gently with dry hands. It was torture and he couldn't help the moan. Three times she did this, but just as he was on the verge of capturing her face in his hands, she let the tip of her tongue brush against him, and he groaned. Her soft mouth slowly covered him, suckling the tip like a treat to be savoured and making him grit his teeth in restraint. She pulled off of him several times before taking him straight down her throat.

Severus had to grip the arms of the chair to keep from grabbing onto that mane of bushy hair and using it to control the little tease. Each time she slipped off of him with a wet _pop_, he moaned in agony and shifted in the chair. The chit knew what she was doing; he'd give her that. Then she ran her tongue across his length, licking her own hand before gripping the base as her soft mouth covered the tip once more. The combination of soft, swirling tongue on the head of his cock and slick, warm hand sliding up and down faster and faster with such a grip. Severus growled aloud and knotted a fist in her hair, lifting himself to thrust faster into her mouth. It was so good! _Too_ good. If he wasn't careful, he was going to come.

Realising this, Severus pushed her away from himself, panting into the room. "That was lovely," he told her, "but not what I had in mind." He smirked as her brow furrowed with confusion. "Drape yourself across my lap, Hermione. I have a punishment to deliver." Hermione hesitated, unsure of what to do, but he pulled her to him and helped her down into the right position. She was mortified. Lying as she was, her arse was straight up in the air, presented for his pleasure. She could practically _feel _his smirk, though she couldn't see his face without straining her neck. When his big hand gently rested on her bum, Hermione tensed. She had never felt so powerless. Then, he pushed her skirts up to rest on the small of her back, and Hermione squirmed, suddenly determined that she was _not_ about to do this. But he had anticipated that reaction, if his sudden grip on her shoulders and thighs was any indication. "Patience," he admonished in a deadly tone, "trust me." Hermione immediately relaxed. She did trust this man. She always—nearly always had. But then he was pulling down her stockings and her knickers and she squirmed against the instinct to hide her bare arse from his sight. He only laughed, held her down, and brought a gentle hand to the soft skin of her bum. Those spidery fingers ran lazy circles across the surface until finally settling on the curve of her arse. _Whack! _His first little spanking was more of a shock than anything else. She cried out in surprise before realising that it hadn't actually hurt. "Very good, Miss Granger," he growled. Her body instinctively reacted to the praise. Long fingers gently soothed her sensitive skin until she relaxed, then whacked her once again. "Do you know what I plan to do to you when I am done with this?" he asked in a low, patient tone. She shook her head. "I plan to take you into my bedroom," he told her, planting another swat against her arse. "I plan to bury my cock in that sweet cunt of yours." Hermione moaned and grinded against his knee, which rewarded her with another swat. "Come, Miss Granger, that's not how you play the game."

The game. This was a game. Suddenly, Hermione understood. "Not before you bury that big nose of yours between my legs," she said. Even he seemed a bit surprised.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. His cock twitched against her stomach and he gave her another swat.

"What I want?" Hermione thought about it. "I want you to sit where you are and let me straddle your lap. I want to fuck you against that chair of yours so you never forget."

Severus considered for a bare instant. A moment later, she was straddling his lap, her knickers and stockings gone. She met his mouth hungrily, biting his lower lip as he gripped her waist. She positively _ached_ to have him inside of her. But as she positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, she stopped. And she met his eyes with a wicked smirk. Letting herself slide onto him a bare inch or so, she pulled right back off. He groaned. She did it again, sliding just a little bit lower before coming back off again. He squeezed her waist. When she did it again, sliding half-way down and freezing there, holding him inside of her without letting him move, Severus couldn't take it anymore. In one fluid motion, he lifted them both from the chair and sprawled her out on the floor beneath him, freezing above her with a look of extreme concentration.

His eyes were closed, but when he opened them they shone with devilish excitement. A wry smirk twisted the corners of his mouth and he nearly laughed. "You think you are the only one capable of being a tease, _Hermione?_" The dark man braced his knees between her thighs, holding them open to his view as he leaned over her. Gripping her wrists with one hand above her head, he slowly lowered his mouth to her lips. The slightest brush of a caress between the two made her struggle against his restraint, wanting more of his hot, wet kisses. But he refused, dipping his head down to nuzzle her neck, and Hermione moaned. With sharp teeth, he gently nipped the tender skin there as the young witch writhed beneath him. She couldn't stand much more of this sweet torture. Then he pulled back just far enough to look at her, and the rest of her clothing disappeared. Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling so exposed, especially as he was still nearly fully dressed. She would have to learn that trick and use it on him next time. _Next time?_ Hell, why not?

His hot, eager mouth covered one breast and Hermione groaned. Squirming beneath him did no good as there was nothing but open air between her thighs. When his teeth gently scraped across her hardened nipple, she arched her back with frustration and arousal.

"Please," she whimpered, "I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to fill me, to fuck me. I _need_ you. Severus..."

His name on her voice made Severus growl. It was nearly enough to make him take her then and there. But he restrained himself. Restraint was something that he knew all too well. Releasing his hold on her wrists, he pushed her breasts together, dragging his tongue along the curve between the two. Hermione had never seen anything as erotic as her professor nuzzling her breasts. Then he trailed a path with his tongue down her body until he was kneeling between her thighs. One of his beautiful, Potions Master's hands slid down the velvet skin of her thigh to dip between her legs, slipping between her folds, and she cried out.

"_Merlin_, girl, you're so wet!" he growled. "I want to taste you. I want to watch you come beneath me, knowing what I plan to do to you after."

"Oh yes," she gasped as his knuckles brushed her clit.

"And do you know what that is?"

"Tell me."

"I'm going to fuck you like there's no end in sight. I'm going to thrust my hard cock inside of you and hammer into you until you beg me for release. You'll be begging me to come deep inside your tight, wet cunt, and I'll comply."

"Yes, oh yes," she murmured, writhing against his touch.

"But first, I want to taste you." Slowly, oh so slowly, he brought his mouth to hover just above the juncture of her thighs. Hot breath poured over her sensitized flesh and Hermione moaned.

"Please. _Please,_ Severus," she begged. The tip of his tongue darted out to trace her slit and she whimpered with unbearable need. His hands were on her hips, now, holding her still so that she couldn't buck against him. Then that hot tongue slipped between her folds, thrusting into her hot opening before flicking up to tease her clit. "Oh gods!" she whimpered, writhing beneath his punishing grip.

"_Gods_, you're so sweet," he growled. Then his mouth came down on her, covering her aching sex and suckling the little bud of nerves that was waiting for release. Wet, hot, molten pleasure pulsed where his mouth met her skin. And as he suckled and licked her, slowly probing his tongue into her depths and then flicking that sensitive knot, rubbing it with the hot pad of his tongue, Hermione knew no more words. "Good girl," he growled against her flesh. "So responsive. I can't wait to fuck you... _Hermione." _

Hermione glanced down between her legs to meet the dark eyes of Severus Snape. She had never liked a sight half as much as that one, and he seemed to be enjoying it too. That fiery deviousness shining in his coal black eyes made Hermione's breath hitch. She wanted him inside of her. And soon, she would have her way.

The thought of him thrusting inside of her, pressing her into the carpet, sent a shock of arousal down her spine and Hermione rode that crest of pleasure until it blossomed with intensity. "Oh gods! Oh _Severus_!" she screamed as waves of pleasure crashed down all around her, shooting to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She shuddered beneath him as he drank down her pleasure, growling against her flesh.

With a snap of his fingers, his clothing was gone, revealing a body that was thin and wiry and pale. And then he was upon her, thrusting all the way inside of her before she'd even come all the way down, and halting with a ragged growl. She was so tight and wet and beautiful beneath him. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

Hermione moaned, unable to control herself any longer as her ex-professor began to slowly thrust against the juncture between her legs. Who could have known that having Snape's hard cock inside of her would feel so good? She lifted her body to meet his thrusts, desperate for more of that delicious friction, and he moaned. His mouth met her neck, gently suckling her tender skin as he slowly fucked her. He pulled away to meet her eyes and they were on fire with desire. She wanted to give him the world.

Without warning, he was pounding into her, tangling one hand in her hair as the other pinched her nipple. She whimpered and he growled. "Turn over," he told her, pulling out of her. Hermione complied without question, revelling in the new sensation when he filled her from behind.

He was hammering into her and Hermione cried out with the intensity of the pleasure. "Oh _Merlin!_"

"Not quite," he quipped through gritted teeth. One pale hand snaked down to cover her clit as he thrust against her.

"Oh gods! _Severus_!"

The way she screamed his name sent a flash of pleasure to his groin. "Oh fuck!" he cried, grinding slower to keep from coming too soon. "I like it when you say my name," he growled. "Do you like the way I'm fucking you? _Hermione?_"

"Yes!" she cried.

"You're so wet! Gods, you're so tight! You feel so fucking good!"

Hermione moaned with pleasure. He liked the way she felt. "Yes! _Please. Harder, _Severus!"

Severus groaned. The witch was begging for more! It was all he could do to keep from bursting inside of her. "If you keep that up, I'm going to come," he told her.

"Yes! I want you to," she gasped. "I want you to hold me close and come inside of me!"

Severus swatted her arse with one hand, revelling in her shout of surprise. "Oh, I'm going to, witch. Turn over." He pulled out and helped her flip onto her back, pushing her legs up to link over his shoulders before thrusting into her tight sheath once again. He groaned. She felt so good in this position. He wouldn't be able to last for very long.

This angle felt incredible to Hermione, but better than that was the view. Severus Snape met her eye, dark fire burning hot in those charcoal depths as he pounded into her. One hand came up to squeeze her breast, tweaking her nipple as he stared down at her. "Oh _gods, _Severus," she whimpered. "You feel so good!"

Suddenly, Severus felt the cusp. There was no stopping it now. Stuffing a hand into her hair, he held her tight, leaning down to brush his mouth against hers one more time as the pleasure mounted. "Oh gods, Hermione," he gasped, "I'm going to..."

"Yes! Oh yes! _Severus_!"

He came hard, growling incoherently as pleasure poured through his body. His eyes closed tight with the sensation, and he froze above her, pressing as deep inside her as he could. "Oh _fuck, _Hermione!" When every ounce of pleasure had been wrung from his exhausted body, Severus collapsed beside the beautiful witch. There they lay, panting on the floor of his study, as the aftershocks of pleasure softly sparkled through their bodies.

Severus felt amazing and exhausted, but a familiar concern slowly drifted to the surface. Had he lived up to her expectations? Had he made a fool of himself? Would she want to run now that she'd gotten her fill, realising what she'd just done with her old professor? Severus hadn't worried about such things in years, but this witch was different. She wasn't some tart he had brought home from the pub. She didn't want him for what she thought he might be. She knew all the darkness and the horror of his past. And thanks to Harry Bloody Potter, she knew his deepest secrets, too.

But Hermione only curled up against his side, wrapping her slender fingers around his arm. And he relaxed. And turned on his side. And held her close as they fell asleep.

The next morning found them reading in bed together. He had promised her that she could take a look at his books, and she had held him to it. But Severus found that it was a welcome change. Usually, the women he brought home slipped out with an awkward farewell, never to see him again. But Hermione wanted to stay. And Severus wanted to let her. They had made slow love when they woke up on the carpet, then he'd shagged her against the wall as she tried to cook him breakfast, and they'd ended up with burnt toast and cold tea, getting crumbs in his overlarge bed as they warmed up beneath the sheets. Reading about rare potions was a welcome respite for his poor, exhausted heart. The time he had spent with Hermione had already taken a toll; his old heart hammering hard, filling the cavity of his chest with painful swelling and twanging the like of which he hadn't felt in years. Oh, and they'd had a bit of exercise, too.

Hermione had certainly learned her lesson. If anyone could make love to her with just his voice, it was Severus Snape. And if she had her way, he'd be doing it to her for a long time to come.


End file.
